


two wrongs one right

by navience



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Exes to Lovers, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28802376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navience/pseuds/navience
Summary: You're a freshman with terrible luck. It works out well for two of your professors, though.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	two wrongs one right

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing for hq and for these characters, so forgive me if it's a little clumsy lol. this was requested by yu on twt hehe i hope you enjoy i had a lot of fun w it

It’s your mistake.

You’re a freshman, raw and new in a city you don’t recognize, and you are about to be thrust into a chemical equation you are wholly unprepared for.

You’re sitting anxiously in the third row of the lecture hall, ten minutes early and all alone, tapping your foot and obsessively checking the door, wondering where the other students are and when they will begin trickling in. Your (currently absent) professor is Dr. Oikawa Tooru, who, on his webpage, states that he likes milk bread in case any students want to (surely unsuccessfully) bribe him for an A in Astronomy 2291, and that he’s shit at coming up with personal mottos, so he decided not to touch anything regarding careful wording or literature ever again in his life post-high school. It isn’t stated on his website, but Dr. Oikawa is also hot, even through the lens of a professional portrait photo, surrounded by books that are slightly out of focus compared to his beautiful, ageless, perfect face.

You don’t have a crush on your professor (who still hasn’t walked in). This is just an objective fact.

As starting time gets nearer, you shift anxiously in your chair, and stand with your books to check that you’re in the right place. Just as you do, someone does walk in, and you relax your shoulders slightly before their eyes land on you and the reaction is catalyzed.

“I don’t have an eight A.M.,” he frowns, and you’re standing quite a few steps above him but still feel small under his gaze.

“Um, I thought this was the— the Astronomy—” you stutter, rocking back and forth as you wonder whether to step closer to him, to the door, to freedom, or to back away in terror of his bristly brown hair and fierce expression.

“111,” he finishes, lifting one large hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. You wince, wondering whether you’ve done him some great personal wrong by trying to attend your very first class of college, and you open your mouth to apologize and promise never to do it again when he speaks again. His voice is booming and deep, and you bite your cheek, trying to keep your expression both stalwartly neutral and subserviently apologetic at the same time. “I swear to God, this mix-up happens every fucking year. Let’s get you to your class.” 

You nod, terror washing over you, and follow him meekly out of the lecture hall.

By some miracle (his brisk pace, which makes you wish you did cardio more often because being afraid of and out of breath next to this man is just humiliating) you make it to the proper room in time for your actual class to start, which, of course, gives the stranger professor enough time to make this the worst first day of school of your life.

“Shittykawa,” he booms when the teacher you recognize comes into glorious view, and you jump in fright and scuttle to the back of the room, settling in a space between two other empty spots. 

“Iwa-chan!” Your professor beams, his head snapping up, his brown eyes crinkling in a smile. “It’s been a long time. Come to visit me?”  _ Iwa-chan _ looks away, closing his eyes in what you assume is consternation, and folds his arms. You worry suddenly that he is going to punch Dr. Oikawa with his very large fists powered by very large biceps. 

“Update your website, idiot,” he growls. “I’m still getting freshmen in my classroom at ass o’clock in the morning because of you.” Most of the students around you are taking the opportunity to chat with each other or check their phones, but you sit and listen miserably, each word echoing in your ears. You wonder if Dr. Oikawa will hold this against you.

“Excuses,” he says airily. “You just wanted to come see me, no? I don’t see any students hiding behind you or anything.”

“Eh? Where’d they go?” The shorter, darker, scarier professor swings his head around and points at you. “That one. In the coat.” Your face catches fire and you wonder if it’s too late to become a rice farmer in Miyagi instead of ever having to face the utter torture of the academic world again. 

“Stop scaring the children, Iwa-chan,” Dr. Oikawa laughs. “But alright, I believe you. Now excuse me, I have a class to start.” They fist-bump, and you exhale in relief, thanking the universe for at least making them friends and not some kind of workplace rivals.

“Bye, Oikawa,” the denim-clad man says as he leaves. You watch him disappear out the door, craning your neck to see him go as far down the hall as possible. In doing so, you miss Oikawa doing the same.

“Hi everyone, sorry for the interruption,” he says. “Let’s get started!”

You had initially been pleasantly surprised by the professor’s easygoing manner, but you come to realize it might only be around his friends. His syllabus paints a ridiculously strict picture, and the passionate spark in his eyes as he explains how he got into the subject and the trajectory of his research is as inspiring as it is terrifying. You are going to have to work very hard in this class.

The day doesn’t stop there, though. Your last class is Physics 131, and when you near the classroom, you have to actively will your legs to keep moving. You may still be easily lost in this new place, but this hall will be burned into your memory forever.

“Hey, guys!” A familiar voice booms as you bury your face in your arms and suppress a scream. “Physics 131, yeah? Everyone in the right place?” You want to go home. Really, really bad.

You should have realized. Professor Iwaizumi Hajime, no photo on his website,  _ Iwa-chan _ . Really, you just shouldn’t have come to the wrong classroom today. Still, you push through your lingering embarrassment for the sake of your grades, and by the end of class, you come to realize that Iwaizumi isn’t very scary at all. Compared to Oikawa, his promises of understanding and flexibility make relief course through your veins, and although you still rush out of the classroom at the end of the day, you can’t deny that you have a little pep in your step.

By the time winter break swings around, you have more than recovered from your inauspicious first day. You’ve outgrown your old fear of Iwaizumi, and you’ve found that although Physics is a larger class, Iwaizumi’s casual manner and insistence on class discussion make it feel much smaller than Astronomy, which, as expected, is rigorous and focused far more on individual growth. 

But beyond the conceptual links, the two classes are uncomfortably intimately related.

Every morning, you sit down, yawning, in the Astronomy room, and every morning, Iwaizumi shows up with a new grievance against Oikawa. And every morning, Oikawa asks, smiling, soft and sad, if he’s come to visit him. And every morning, he watches him go like he’s being pulled, like Iwaizumi is the sun and he a helpless planet. 

A strange orbit, those two. It’s not until you start attending Astronomy office hours that you notice a little more. 

You bounce on your toes, thanking Oikawa, walking through the door just as Iwaizumi enters. You wouldn’t stay, except you’re so curious, and Iwaizumi calls him  _ Tooru _ . Not Shittykawa, not Kusokawa, not Bitchkawa. Tooru.

You only catch snippets of conversation, but what you glean is this.

They must have been close, close friends. Oikawa references their high school days. Iwaizumi laughs, strained.

They are no longer quite friends.

When Iwaizumi storms out, he finds you, sitting on the floor with your back to the wall, pretending to do homework. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, but he doesn’t say anything, just sighs and walks away, rubbing his temples.

You gather your things and leave because you’re certain Oikawa wouldn’t be so taciturn.

You’re in the library, trying to study, when you hear them in the row next to you. You wince and wonder whether or not to plug in your earbuds to avoid it, but no amount of blasted pop punk can drown out Dr. Iwaizumi’s bitter words.

“Because I love you, you idiot,” he snarls, and you hear heavy footsteps out of the library. When you see Oikawa next, he’s not even fake happy, like he is on the days you see him without his “Actually, I am a rocket scientist” coffee cup (it matches the empty one Iwaizumi perpetually has on his desk). He scowls throughout the lecture, and dismisses class early. You leave some milk bread on his desk out of a vaguely misplaced sense of guilt.

You’re out clubbing when you make another mistake.

Three, maybe four shots deep, you’re stumbling home, clutching your friend’s arm and giggling. The world is so beautiful.

“Wait,” you say, the pair of you stumbling to a stop. “I know— I know that guy! Stop, stop, I know them.”

In the downtown district, the fancy lights hanging about classy restaurants bob, little balls of golden fire casting a warm glow over two men you’re  _ certain  _ you know.

“Oikawa! Dr. Iwaizumi!” You yell, fired up. They look at you, slightly startled, you can tell. Too late now. “It’s all gonna be okay,” you say loudly, giving them an enthusiastic thumbs up. Both men still look surprised, laughter gradually overcoming their expressions. You sway, feeling accomplished, and your friend catches you and drags you home.

On Monday, you slink into class, barely able to look at your professor. Still, you watch as Iwaizumi walks in, and with a bashful grin, he hands Oikawa a steaming mug of coffee. Oikawa grins, delighted, and you can’t help smiling in a sort of sympathetic reaction. Iwaizumi takes a sip from the same mug before he leaves, and Oikawa is careful to press his lips to that very side.

Maybe it wasn’t a mistake. 

At the end of the year, you and a few friends are out celebrating the end of finals and the beginning of summer. You walk through downtown, shopping bags in hand, and make eye contact with two men. One is dressed stylishly, in a nice button-up and slacks, while the other is clad in a white t-shirt and jeans, his hair spiky to the other’s swoopy. They’re holding hands.

When you graduate, three years later, you meet two of the faculty, familiar faces with matching unfamiliar rings. You grin.

Definitely not a mistake.


End file.
